


A Ghost of Blissful Feelings

by alpha_exodus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Imperiused Sex, Kink Negotiation, Love Confessions, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22749289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpha_exodus/pseuds/alpha_exodus
Summary: Harry hadn't expected to spend his eighth year fucking Draco Malfoy, but it's the only thing that helps him let go.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 62
Kudos: 1073
Collections: HP Kinkfest 2020





	A Ghost of Blissful Feelings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'mind control'. Despite the tags, this is a consensual depiction of Imperius used as a kink (though obviously consent is still dubious in this situation).
> 
> Thank you to the anonymous prompter for giving me such a tantalizing idea, and love always to Mattie for betaing and also reassuring me that this was not terrible :')
> 
> title from Smoke by pvris!!

They've tried to do this twice before.

It didn't work either time, of course. Harry's willpower is too strong, or maybe Malfoy’s casting is too weak, or some combination of both of those things. Either way, it only serves to make Harry feel inadequate at best. He's been so useless after the war, and he can't even do _this_ , this thing he wants and hates and craves so much that he’d slowly, finally worked up the courage to ask Malfoy for it.

It hasn’t worked before.

But this time they have a plan.

“Are you sure?” Malfoy asks him, and his voice is steady but his posture betrays his nervousness, the way he's sitting a bit hunched over on the edge of the bed next to Harry. They're in the Room of Requirement, mended over the summer for all intents and purposes, though if Harry thinks about it hard enough he can still smell the faint scent of fire. Tonight, the room has made itself small and cozy, with a bed and a nightstand and a curious cupboard that neither of them has dared to venture into.

They've been fucking here for half the school year.

In a way, it's a bit funny to Harry—hatred and passion being so closely aligned, closely enough that he's ended up in bed with Malfoy after some quarrel or another more times than he can count. If anyone asked him what he thought he’d spend his eighth year doing, it certainly wouldn’t be this.

It wouldn’t be trusting Malfoy enough to give him control over everything. It wouldn’t be feeling so fucking drawn to him that sometimes it burns.

He takes a deep breath, gripping at the edge of the bed, hoping it will stabilize him somehow. It doesn’t. “Yeah. I'm sure,” he finally responds.

Malfoy sighs and draws his wand. “It _is_ illegal, you know,” he says, and he’s stalling—they’ve had this discussion before, multiple times.

“You know I won’t tell,” Harry replies, unable to hide his anticipation. “Do it.”

Still, Malfoy doesn’t move.

Harry rolls his eyes and sighs. “Please?”

Malfoy’s mouth twitches, a barely-there twist of emotion, and he nods once. “Okay,” he says, and lifts his wand. “ _Confundo_.”

Harry shivers as the spell sinks into his skin, scrambling his thoughts, but before he can think himself out of it, Malfoy casts again—

“ _Imperio_.”

 _Ah_ —

All of a sudden, Harry's floating inside his mind.

Where is he? What's happening?

Gradually, he starts to make sense of things. He’s being controlled again, isn’t he? But unlike the other times, he can’t focus enough worry about it right now. In fact, he doesn't feel like worrying about anything at all.

The soft sounds of Malfoy's thoughts, his commands, come to him—‘ _you can lean on me.’_

That sounds lovely, doesn't it? Vaguely, Harry braces himself, because usually this is where his own willpower kicks in, tells him no, no, we're not doing this.

But it doesn’t. He’s fully at Malfoy’s whim, it seems, and he leans on Malfoy's shoulder with no resistance, Merlin—

He can let go, finally, _finally_.

“Merlin—the Confundus worked, didn't it?” Malfoy says, his arm coming around Harry, and it feels so nice—the touch of Malfoy's arm, the press of his body warm against Harry, the way his anxiety no longer is tugging him like an anchor. He’s so—so _happy_.

Malfoy looks at him, something unreadable in his eyes, and commands, ‘ _kiss me_.’

Okay.

Harry leans up obediently, pressing his lips to Malfoy's, and everything else seems to fall away—it's just him and Malfoy on the bed, just pure, uncomplicated bliss.

‘ _On top_ _of me_?’ Malfoy thinks then, and Harry obeys, climbing on top of him to straddle his legs, already growing hard with anticipation. They kiss again, open-mouthed, Malfoy's tongue slick against Harry's own.

‘ _Show me how much you like it,_ ’ Malfoy thinks at him.

Deep in the back of his mind Harry finds that funny—Malfoy's complained before that Harry is so quiet during sex, maybe because Malfoy can be quite loud in contrast. But Malfoy has commanded it, so Harry moans into his mouth, gasping when Malfoy ducks his head lower to suck at Harry's neck. At another time Harry might fuss at him to avoid leaving marks, but now he sits obedient in Malfoy's lap, leaning his head back when Malfoy tells him to, letting Malfoy ravish him. Malfoy’s lips trace over his skin, kissing, biting, pausing to suck particularly hard at one spot, and Merlin, he _is_ going to leave a mark, isn’t he?

Malfoy can do anything to him now.

Fuck.

The thought makes him moan again, and Malfoy nips sharply at his neck and then pulls away, the edges of a smile on his lips. “Take your clothes off,” he says, aloud this time, and Harry immediately scrambles off of him to strip. In almost no time, his clothes are on the floor, and he's standing there in front of Malfoy, completely naked, hard as he's ever been.

Malfoy sits there on the bed and just looks at him for a moment, mouth falling open slightly, looking turned on and serious and just a bit wrecked. It hits Harry then, in his slightly stunned, floating state, just how much Malfoy _wants_ him.

It feels nice to be so wanted.

‘ _Climb into the bed_ ,’ Malfoy thinks then, ‘ _On your hands and knees_.’

Harry goes, of course, because Harry will give him anything he asks for. He has to.

Fuck.

He shivers a bit in anticipation, climbing onto the bed with his arse in the air, hands splayed into the sheets beneath him. ‘ _Spread your legs more_ ,’ Malfoy adds, and Harry does willingly, exposing himself to the air of the room—to Malfoy.

He waits there for a moment, hearing the sound of clothes rustling, most likely Malfoy getting undressed. He doesn't look—Malfoy never told him he could move. All he can do is wait.

Finally, the bed dips behind him, and cool hands smooth over his arse, making Harry’s breath hitch. He waits for the touch of Malfoy’s fingers or maybe even the stretch of a preparation spell, but instead he only feels the clean tingle of a _Scourgify_.

Then Malfoy thinks, ‘ _Stay still_ ,’ and it’s if Harry’s been hit with a Body Bind. Not that he _wants_ to move, especially when he feels the warmth of Malfoy’s breath ghosting over his arsehole—fuck, they’ve never done this before, Harry never even knew Malfoy _wanted_ this, and suddenly nervousness punches through the wall of the Imperius—

For a terrifying moment, Harry almost thinks he might throw off the clutches of the spell, but then Malfoy thinks, ‘ _Potter_ ,’ and then, ‘ _calm down_ ,’ and the moment slips past.

Malfoy doesn’t move for a moment, and the undercurrent of soft, floating happiness returns in Harry’s head, now tinged with relief. ‘ _Tell me if you don’t want it_ ,’ Malfoy thinks, a whisper of worry coating his words.

“I do,” Harry says. He doesn’t even have to think about it—the yearning is throbbing in his chest stronger than ever.

He wants anything Malfoy will give to him.

“You sure?” Malfoy says, aloud this time.

“Yes,” Harry says, and then he squeezes his eyes shut. “ _Please_.”

“ _Merlin_ , okay,” he hears Malfoy say, and then Malfoy’s hands are spreading him open and Malfoy’s tongue is swiping hot against his arsehole.

All at once, he understands the torture of not being able to move—it’s dirty and hot and he can’t pull away, even when it feels so good, nearly _too_ good to have Malfoy’s mouth on him. His thighs are shaking with the effort of staying still, of letting Malfoy lick him open, letting him press his tongue inside him with quick slides that make Harry gasp.

‘ _Show me how you’re feeling_ ,’ Malfoy thinks again, and Harry lets go—he _has_ to—moaning unabashedly, crying out when Malfoy licks a circle around his hole and pushes in again.

‘ _More?_ ’ Malfoy thinks, pulling away with his breath coming heavy, and Harry nods quickly. ‘ _Tell me_.’

Harry whimpers. “I want—” he starts, his voice thick with lust. “I want your fingers.”

“Just one,” Malfoy says then, voice haughty, tantalizing. Harry bites his lip, and then sure enough, he feels the touch of a lube-slicked finger teasing at his entrance. ‘ _Say please again?_ ’ Malfoy thinks.

“Please... _please_ ,” Harry says, nearly a sob, wanting to push his hips back but unable to, held motionless by Malfoy’s thoughts alone.

“Fuck,” Malfoy swears, sounding nearly overwhelmed—he’s been so openly vulnerable tonight, and it makes Harry feel breathless. His finger taps at Harry’s arsehole, once, twice, before pressing in agonizingly slowly.

“ _Malfoy_ ,” Harry moans.

‘ _Draco_ ,’ Malfoy corrects, sounding like he didn’t quite mean to do it.

But Harry has to obey nonetheless. “Mm—Draco,” he sighs, and behind him, Malfoy makes a choked off sound, one of surprise and maybe desire.

“Fuck,” Malfoy says again, dragging his finger out of Harry and pushing it back in.

Slowly, surely, Harry loses himself in Malfoy’s touch, in the feeling of Malfoy’s fingers inside of him, in the relief of ceding all control and the permeating euphoria of the Imperius.

They call it a curse, but in that moment, it’s a blessing.

Sometime later, though exactly how long Harry’s lost track, Malfoy pulls out of him and casts his hand clean. “Turn over,” Malfoy says, and Harry does, lying flat on his back with a breath of relief as his muscles relax. Malfoy climbs over him and kisses him soundly, and then he pulls away, hovering over him. “You’re mad, you know?”

Harry blinks up at him.

“You’re...” Malfoy shakes his head. “You’re too trusting,” he says, quieter then.

It’s a possibility. Not that Harry cares at the moment.

“What do you want?” Malfoy says then, and Harry stares at him, puzzled. “Tell me,” Malfoy adds, and then it’s a command, and Harry is compelled to say something, so he says the first thing that pops into his mind—because really, it doesn’t matter, as long as it’s here with Malfoy.

“I want to ride you,” Harry tells him.

Malfoy bites his lip. Then he flips them over, and after a moment of tangled limbs, Harry is on top of him, straddling his thighs. “Okay,” he says, helping Harry position himself. “Do it.” ‘ _Just like this_.’

Harry moans and nods, pliant in his hands, shifting his hips until he’s just right. Then he feels the first firm press of Malfoy’s cock against his arsehole and groans, hissing as he presses down and it slips in the first few inches, bottoming out, panting, Malfoy thick in him, _fuck_.

Then he rises up and does it again, looking down at Malfoy’s face, flushed, mouth rounded into an ‘o’.

He really is beautiful like this, naked underneath Harry, _inside_ of him, Merlin.

‘ _Show me how you feel._ ’

Harry shudders. “Draco,” he sighs. “You’re so beautiful.”

Malfoy’s eyes go wide. “Potter...”

“You feel s-so good,” Harry continues, rhythm steady as he fucks onto Malfoy’s cock. “I could—I could come from this, I—”

‘ _Don’t_ _come_ ,’ Malfoy thinks, and then his cheeks go pink in embarrassment.

Harry lets out a strangled moan. “Okay.”

That task is made even harder then by the fact that Malfoy spells his hand slick soon after, stroking Harry’s cock in tandem with the movements of Harry’s hips, bringing him so close it burns—and then Malfoy himself is moaning, the familiar little noises of pleasure that Harry’s grown so used to hearing.

Harry is lost completely, he thinks, whimpering every time he sinks down onto Malfoy, wanting to come so badly he could cry, but he _can’t_ —

“ _Oh_ ,” Malfoy moans, back arching, and then _he’s_ coming, tense shudders under Harry, spurting warm inside of him, eyes squeezed shut as his hand falls away from Harry’s cock. ‘ _Stop—stop_.’

Harry pauses mid-thrust, shaking, letting Malfoy push him off and away. Then he hears Malfoy cast the preparation spell again—and Malfoy looks up at him and spread his legs and orders, “Fuck me.”

 _Shit_.

Harry nods shakily and climbs over him and presses in as slowly as he can bear— _oh_. He’s still so, so close, but Malfoy hasn’t told him he can come yet, even as he thrusts in again, even with Malfoy tight and slick around him,

Malfoy groans unabashedly, even though he must be overstimulated by now. “Fuck,” he sighs, eyes going soft below him, and Harry wants to kiss him so badly in that moment that it burns in his chest.

“I—” he starts, but he doesn’t know if he’s _allowed_ to say what he wants this time, and the soft blanket of the Imperius pushes back, stopping him.

He’s grateful that Malfoy gives him the chance anyway. ‘ _What is it?_ ’

The words come out in a rush—“I want to kiss you,” he half chokes out, and Malfoy is tipping his head up, wide-eyed, before the words are half out of his mouth.

Harry kisses him deeply, the rhythm of his hips stuttering, and Malfoy meets him eagerly, urging him faster with hands gripping at his hips, his waist.

It feels so nice it almost hurts.

He’s so, so close. “I—” he gasps, breaking the kiss. “Fuck, fuck—”

“You can come,” Malfoy says then, panting. “Let go.”

It’s no sooner than Malfoy says the words when Harry is pressing as deep into him as he can get, crying out in a strangled groan as his orgasm shoots through him like a spell. It all hits him in a single, shattering moment, and he presses his face into Malfoy’s neck to muffle what wants to be a scream, shuddering through it until he finally collapses on top of him. He feels nearly like his soul has left his body.

“Potter,” Malfoy says quietly, and then, ‘ _Get off_.’

Obediently, Harry rolls away, staring up at the ceiling as he hears Malfoy moving beside him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Malfoy pick up his wand. “ _Finite incantatem_.”

And the world comes rushing back in full force.

Ah, fuck, his limbs are sore, his arse too, and—and Merlin.

They just did that.

They really did.

It was brilliant. Really.

It’s just that for some reason Harry can’t explain, guilt is prickling in his chest—maybe because part of him, just a tiny part, still thinks it’s wrong. It was dirty and illicit and it _is_ illegal after all—Malfoy could get arrested if anyone ever found out, just because Harry wanted it...

He tries to push back against those feelings, but even though he tells himself that it was good—for both of them, right?—they still leak through his defenses, making him weary.

Still, wasn’t it worth it, to finally be so happy? Doesn’t he deserve that for fucking once in his life?

He’s nearly worked himself to a point where he feels okay with it again—except then he looks over at Malfoy, and Malfoy is turned away from him, the curve of his back stark against the dark sheets.

Harry swallows a lump of emotion. “Malfoy?”

Malfoy lets out a sharp sigh. “Go away,” he mutters.

It hurts.

Fortunately, Harry’s not under his spell anymore. He doesn’t have to obey him.

So he doesn’t.

Instead he curls closer to Malfoy, wrapping an arm around his sweat-sticky skin even when Malfoy makes a noise of annoyance, pulling the covers up over them. He holds him even though his heart pounds raggedly in his chest, even though Malfoy is stiff in his arms when only moments ago he’d been almost warm.

“What did I just say, Potter?” Malfoy mumbles, most of the bite gone from his voice.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks instead of answering, nervousness thrumming beneath his skin.

Malfoy is silent, and when Harry sits up to see his face, Malfoy looks nearly like he’s fighting tears.

The realization comes to him, and he sits back against the headboard, feeling almost numb with guilt. “You don’t... You don’t feel good about what we just did, do you?”

Malfoy shakes his head.

“You...” Harry sighs and says the thing he’s been dreading the most. “You didn’t like it.”

Malfoy is silent for a moment, and Harry’s stomach drops.

Eventually, Malfoy shakes his head. “I did,” he says then. “But it wasn’t... I felt terrible, for liking it.”

“I asked for it though,” Harry says—it’s the only reason they did it.

“I know. But.” Malfoy finally rolls to face him, and Harry lies down again, close to him but not quite touching. “Listen, Potter. You’re not...” He shuts his eyes. “When we fuck, you’re not just a body to me, all right?”

“Oh,” Harry breathes, a sudden flush of warmth blooming between his ribs despite the guilt that wants to devour him.

“And that—that was what this felt like, just now. I was using you, even if you wanted it, and...” Malfoy clamps his mouth shut.

Harry stares at him, and then his chest burns, because it sounds like—

It sounds rather like Malfoy is saying he cares about him.

In all the time they’ve been fucking, they’ve never talked about this.

They’ve never talked about the first time, dueling in the hallway after hours, about the first time Malfoy shoved him against the wall and kissed him.

They’ve never talked about the times after, finding excuses to shout at one another, about wide eyes and stubborn mouths as they shucked their clothes in this very room, about the sounds Malfoy makes as they both come apart.

They’ve never talked about the rare nights that they sleep here, too tired to go back to the dorm, a stray hand on the other’s waist—and eye contact in the darkness, the edges of a smile, kissing even though they’ve both already come...

When exactly did they start to care so damned much?

When exactly did he start to fall in love?

“Draco,” Harry says quietly, the name not so unfamiliar on his lips now.

Draco’s eyes widen. “Don’t,” he says quietly, “Don’t do this to me—”

But he’s leaning into Harry anyway when Harry pulls him closer, when they share a kiss that’s nearly gentle, when Harry finds his hand and squeezes it tight.

“Potter...” Draco says, furrowing his brow.

“I did this because I trust you,” Harry says quietly, honestly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Draco nods slowly, but still, his eyes are shuttered.

“We don’t have to do it again,” Harry tells him, biting his lip.

“But what if you want it?” Draco asks him, gaze suddenly fierce. “What if you... needed it?”

“I won’t. It’ll be fine—”

“You can’t know that,” Draco cuts him off.

Harry has to look away.

It had taken an entire month to get to this point—to ask Draco, to convince him that Harry really did want this, that it was okay. And Draco did cave, eventually. It’s no secret to either of them that Harry is unhappy—has been since the war ended, really.

Since he stopped feeling like he had a place in the world.

He just wanted to stop _thinking_ for once. And Draco willingly gave this to him, even though—

Even though it hurt him. And despite all their quarrelling, Harry doesn’t _want_ to hurt him. Not anymore.

Slowly, he sighs. “This was important to me,” he says. “And I’m really... I appreciate it. A lot. But the things that you want—that you need—those are important to me too, y’know?”

“Then,” Draco says carefully—“Then you should cast it on me, too. To make it even.”

Harry stares at him. “What? No.”

“Why not?” Draco says, sitting up, eyes hard. “If it’s what I want.”

Harry sits up too, his jaw working, trying to think of a response. Finally, he settles on, “I don’t want to do that if you’re doing it out of some sense of—of what, justice?”

“Listen, Potter,” Draco says, and for a moment he looks desperate. “I won’t be indebted to you. Not again.”

Harry stares at him. “You’re not _indebted_ —”

“But it’s unfair!”

“I _asked_ for it. If anything, I’m indebted to _you_ —”

“You don’t understand,” Draco says roughly. “You don’t understand how it felt—”

“I _have_ cast an Imperius before, you know,” Harry says hotly.

Draco seems taken aback by this. But his expression hardens again. “It’s not the same.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” Draco stops, lets out a ragged breath. “Because it was _you_.”

Slowly, Harry feels the tension leave his limbs. “Oh,” he says, and he thinks he’s starting to get it.

“We’re—we’re always pushing against each other, aren’t we?” Draco says quietly. “It’s different than doing it to someone else—though obviously that’s awful too. But it was terrifying to have you be so... compliant. That’s not... that’s not how we are.”

Harry stares at him for a moment. Then he leans forward and kisses him, and Draco sighs through his nose and pulls him close, always, always meeting him halfway.

“It did feel good for me,” Harry says quietly, so quietly he almost thinks Draco doesn’t hear him.

But Draco eventually nods. “I know,” he says then. “You loved it, didn’t you?”

“I...” Harry presses his face into Draco’s shoulder. “I did. Is that wrong?”

“No,” Draco says. “I don’t think so.”

“And it’s not wrong for you to not want to do it again,” Harry says.

Draco sighs, reluctant as always to concede in an argument. “I suppose you’re right.”

The room is filled only with the sound of their breathing for a few long moments.

Then Draco clears his throat. “I would do it again,” he says quietly. “If you wanted it, I would. And I think that’s precisely why I don’t want to. Because I can feel how easy it would be to do it—and to hurt you.”

“You were careful, though,” Harry points out.

“I was. But it took a lot of concentration.” Draco rubs a hand over his face. “And what if I ended up doing something you didn’t want?”

“Isn’t that why you kept asking if it was all right?” Harry asks.

Draco nods. “Yes, but...”

“But?”

“But I might forget,” Draco says. “I might forget, and I might ask you to do... other things, without seeing if you wanted it first, and...”

“Things like... like what?” Harry asks, curious despite himself.

He wonders if that makes him a bad person.

“You don’t want to hear them,” Draco says sharply. “They’re. They would be too forceful.”

“I want to hear anyway,” Harry tells him, and Draco sucks in a breath.

He looks away. But he does speak. “I could tell you to let me fuck your face, and I wouldn’t know when you needed to breathe. I could tell you to eat _my_ arse instead of the other way around, and we’ve never talked about that—I could’ve told you to do any number of things with what’s in the cupboard over there—have you ever looked inside?”

He pauses, and Harry shakes his head.

“I have, one time before you came in. There are loads of things, I could—I could put a cock ring on you, or blindfold you, or make you fuck yourself with a dildo while I watch—”

“Draco,” Harry says, only it’s a moan, his cock twitching with desire, and Draco’s eyes snap back to his face.

“You.” Draco swallows. “You can’t want that.”

Harry’s face burns. He wants to hide. Instead, miserably, he nods.

“Fuck,” Draco mutters, thumping back against the pillows. “This is fucked up.”

“Is it?” Harry says after a moment. “If we both want it?”

“We _shouldn’t_ ,” Draco insists, brow furrowed. “It’s depraved.”

Harry swallows sharply. It does hurt, to hear Draco dismiss his desires—both of their desires—just like that. “Why is it wrong, really? If we both want it?”

“It’s wrong because—” Draco scrubs a hand through his hair, the thin strands messy on the pillowcase. “Because at any time, you could _not_ want it. And I wouldn’t know.”

Harry mulls that over for a moment. “So the problem, then, is that we don’t really talk about any of it, isn’t it?”

“Hmm?”

“We didn’t say anything beyond that we were going to do it. Not _what_ we were going to do, or how far we were allowed to go—any of that.”

“Potter,” Draco says, a slightly amused expression on his face—“We don’t... _talk_.”

Harry chuckles. He can’t help it. “I know,” he says, stretching. “But maybe we should start.”

Draco makes a face. “You’re such a Gryffindor.”

Harry pinches him in the arm, making him scowl briefly. “You don’t want to talk about it?”

“Well, it’s not like I have a _choice_ ,” Draco tells him, and Harry frowns. “Not in a bad way—I just mean, what exactly do you think we’ve been doing for the past half hour?”

Oh. “Talking,” Harry says, and almost wants to laugh again.

“Precisely.”

“And it’s... helped, hasn’t it?” Harry asks.

“Probably.”

Harry gives him a look.

“Okay, fine,” Draco says, rolling his eyes. “I feel a bit better, I suppose.”

“About doing it, just now?” Harry asks. “Or... or about wanting it again?”

Draco’s face tightens.

“Never mind,” Harry says quickly. “We don’t have to—”

“Potter,” Draco stops him. He opens his mouth, suddenly looking scared. “Do you know why I’m so torn about this?”

Harry shakes his head. “Why?”

Draco looks pained for a moment. He licks his lips. “I do feel very strongly about you,” he admits carefully, briefly shutting his eyes before turning to look at Harry. “It’s terrifying.”

Harry’s heart stutters in his chest. “I understand,” he says, pulse racing. “I suppose it’s not something I expected either, to feel so... so _much_.”

“Wow, thanks, Potter,” Draco mutters. “Unexpected. Of course.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Harry tells him, frowning. “It was just surprising.”

“Because I’m a Death Eater.”

“No—” Harry groans, exasperated. “Because we hate each other.”

“We hate each other. Right.” Draco’s expression grows even harder.

Harry nearly wants to reach over and shake him. “Don’t _do_ this, Draco.”

“Why not?” Draco asks him. “ _Obviously_ you didn’t want this—”

“I’m trying to tell you I care about you!” Harry nearly shouts.

Draco looks at him, unsureness in his eyes.

Harry would do anything to chase it away. “I’m trying to tell you I lo—”

Draco slaps a hand over Harry’s mouth.

“Don’t,” Draco says desperately. “Don’t say— _that_.”

Harry pushes Draco’s hand away, startled. “Why not?”

“Because if you do, you can’t take it back, and things will—change.”

Draco _is_ terrified, Harry realizes.

But so is Harry.

He swallows, nervousness thick in his throat. “Things have already changed,” he says quietly. “Tonight. I let you do whatever you wanted with me, and you chose... instead of doing all the things you were thinking of, you asked me what _I_ wanted.”

“So?” Draco asks haughtily.

“You did it because you cared about me.”

“Maybe I was just covering my own arse.”

“No,” Harry says, and has to look away. “You could’ve done _anything_ , Draco, and instead you chose... you chose to love me.”

Draco is quiet, and when Harry sneaks a glance at his face, his expression is blank. Fuck, he’s said the wrong thing, hasn’t he? Merlin, Draco doesn’t feel the same way at all—

“Potter,” Draco says then—“Shut up.”

And then Draco presses him back against the bed and kisses him fiercely, catching Harry off guard, making him groan. “Draco—”

“Yes, okay?” Draco says shortly. “Yes. So shut up.”

Harry can’t stop from grinning then, even as Draco kisses the smile off his face, even as Draco holds him tighter than he ever has before—and in that moment, Harry’s happier than he was even under the Imperius—even when he’d had nothing to worry about at all. “Draco,” he sighs out.

“I said shut _up_ ,” Draco mutters, pulling back and hovering over him, looking vulnerable and nervous and—and in love.

“Make me,” Harry says, levelling his gaze up at Draco—a challenge.

Draco shudders. Then he scowls. “I hate you.”

“You don’t.”

“I _do_ ,” Draco insists, eyes wide with nervousness. “I really hate you.”

“Well, I love you,” Harry says, and Draco freezes.

Then he coughs. “Bloody idiot, don’t just _say_ that.”

“But I do,” Harry says, and it’s true—it’s heady and warm in his chest, his throat. He has to laugh then at the conflicted expression on Draco’s face. “What?”

“You want me to say it.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

Draco’s lips tighten. “It’s embarrassing.”

“I know,” Harry says. “But it feels nice.”

“Fuck,” Draco says, closing his eyes. “I love you.”

“Ah—” Somehow, Harry is still caught off guard hearing those words from Draco’s mouth. Suddenly, he’s so, so warm, flushed with happiness in a way he’s never felt before. “I love you,” he repeats, grinning at Draco, even when Draco rolls his eyes.

“You’re incorrigible,” Draco mutters.

“That’s a Hermione word.”

“Please don’t bring up Granger right now.”

Harry frowns. “Why not?”

“Because,” Draco says, sliding his knuckles down Harry’s bare waist, making him shudder—“I feel very—you know. About you. And also we’re still naked and touching and I think I would like to have sex again, and it’s not her I want to be thinking about when we do.”

 _When_. Merlin.

“Oh. Me neither,” Harry says, and still he can’t stop from smiling.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Draco tells him sharply.

“Make me,” Harry says again.

Draco doesn’t fight him this time. Instead he rolls off of him and bites his lip, actually contemplating it as lies beside him. “We said we’d—talk, first. Before doing that again.”

Merlin—Harry _does_ love him, so much he’s dizzy with it. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Let’s talk then.”

“Okay,” Draco says, and then—“How?”

“Like...” Harry ponders for a moment. “Tell me what you would do to me if we did it right now.”

For a brief second, Draco’s jaw goes slack. “I... I’d. This is hard.”

“I wouldn’t judge you,” Harry promises.

Draco looks resigned. “I know.”

Harry has to grin at him then. “So then...” he trails off.

Draco looks uncertain, but then he speaks anyway. “I...” he reaches his hand up, pressing his thumb to Harry’s lips. “I do want to fuck your face.”

Harry groans, biting at Draco’s thumb, making him groan in turn.

“But...” Draco thinks for a moment, pulling his hand away. “I do like to see you—in pleasure. So maybe...” He swallows, reddening, and Harry leans sideways and kisses him until all the red vanishes, until Draco’s voice is husky as he says, “Maybe I’d tell you to stay completely still. Maybe I’d charm one of the dildos from the cabinet to fuck you while I fucked your face, and you’d have to—to take it.”

Harry is so, so hard. “Please,” he whispers, his hips lifting off the bed as he thinks of it—please, anything.

“Not—not yet,” Draco says quietly. “Not that again, for now. But—but maybe just...” He casts a spell to slick up his hand, wrapping it around Harry’s cock, and Harry whines and curls closer to him, pressing his lips into Draco’s shoulder.

“Tell me more,” Harry says, and Draco nods, his hand finding a rhythm that makes him tremble.

“Maybe I would... I would touch myself until I came, all over my hand, and maybe—maybe a little on you too—and then I would make you lick me clean. Filthy,” he says, frowning for a moment, making Harry laugh.

“I’d do it,” Harry says, breath hitching as Draco twists his hand.

“You’d have to.”

“I’d _want_ to.”

“Merlin,” Draco says, looking at him with so much wonder that Harry feels self-conscious. “You _are_ mad, to want all this.”

“I’m not,” Harry tells him. “I just trust you.”

“Sap,” Draco mutters, a small smile on his lips nonetheless.

“Just telling the truth.”

Draco is silent for a moment, eyes flicking downward, to where he’s slowly pulling Harry closer and closer to the edge. “For what it’s worth, I do trust you,” Draco tells him then.

Merlin. Harry smiles at him, and then the moment is broken when Draco starts to stroke him faster and Harry can’t hold back a gasp.

“Fuck, ah—keep saying things,” Harry urges, voice breathy, sliding his knuckle along Draco’s arm.

“You’re literally getting off on it, aren’t you,” Draco murmurs.

“Yes,” Harry says, and Draco gives him a heated look, kissing him then, over and over until Harry can barely think.

“Okay,” Draco says finally, voice thicker than before. “You would—you would still have the dildo fucking you, right? So then I’d start sucking you off—”

“ _Fuck_ , Draco,” Harry groans, his hips bucking. “I want... I want,” he says and lets his knees fall open.

“Want what?” Draco asks, a small smirk on his face, pretending he doesn’t know.

Harry gives him a look. “You.”

It’s worth it to see Draco’s breath catch. “Fuck, okay,” he says, climbing on top of Harry, pushing his knees up and apart. “You’ll have to—” He cuts off, guiding Harry’s hand to his own cock, and Harry nods—it’s a familiar position for them.

He takes himself in hand, meeting Draco’s eyes as Draco slicks himself and presses in, hissing at the burn—he’s still a bit sore from earlier. But the soreness fades soon enough as he focuses on the feel of Draco’s body, the warm weight on top of him, the way Draco keeps looking at him in adoration between moans and trying to hide it after.

“You’re allowed... to be happy... you know,” Harry tells him, panting.

“Nonsense,” Draco mutters, leaning in close to kiss Harry, long and slow—but when he pulls away, he’s smiling down at him.

“You never finished... your story,” Harry points out.

“ _Nngh_ —right now, really?”

“Yes,” Harry gasps out.

“I’m,” Draco says, and moans. “I’m too close—to talk much.”

“That’s okay,” Harry says.

“I—” Draco’s words are becoming shakier now. “When I suck you off—I would let you come on my face. If you wanted.”

 _Fuck_. Harry comes right then and there, shaking and gasping as he spills between them, causing Draco to laugh in surprise.

“You like that,” Draco says.

“Yes,” Harry gasps, his breathing still wrecked.

“I like it too,” Draco tells him, and then he puts his head on Harry’s chest and fucks into him faster and, for the second time that night, he comes inside Harry, shaking and clutching at his shoulders.

Merlin.

It’s some minutes later, when they’ve cleaned themselves up a bit and are lying side by side, that he says, “For the record, I still think you’re mad, Potter.”

“It’s Harry.”

“Hmm?”

“My name is Harry.”

“Potter,” Draco insists, frowning.

“Harry. I call you Draco now.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

“Even in my head.”

“Oh—really?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, chuckling at Draco’s look of surprise. “What’s wrong with Harry?”

“Not anything in particular. But that would be conceding to you.”

“Is that so bad?”

Draco thinks for a moment. “I suppose it isn’t.”

Harry raises his eyebrows at him and waits.

Draco huffs a sigh. “Harry,” he says then, except it comes out all soft—and immediately he looks aghast. “Merlin, _I’m_ the sap.”

Harry laughs. “We can both be saps.”

“I refuse,” Draco mumbles, his cheeks going pink. “I’ve decided I’m still going to call you Potter.”

“All the time?”

“Yes,” Draco says. “Well. Maybe...” He thinks for a moment. “Maybe except when you’ve been particularly good.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “And what would that look like, exactly?”

Draco smirks for a moment. Then he leans over and kisses him. “I could tell you, but what would be the fun in that? Anyway, I’m rather tired—fucking Merlin, it’s a _school_ night, isn’t it?” he realizes, suddenly looking horrified.

“Oh, bollocks,” Harry says, eyes widening—except then he looks at Draco and suddenly they’re both laughing, curling into each other, tender and warm.

“You never said why you think I’m mad,” he points out, the words light puffs against Draco’s chest.

“Well, firstly just in general,” Draco says, and Harry snorts. “But mostly for wanting... this. And wanting—me.”

“If that’s enough to call me mad, then I’d take it any day,” Harry tells him seriously, pulling back to look at him.

For a moment, Draco can’t hide the affection that appears on his face, and a second afterwards he flushes in embarrassment. “ _Potter_.”

Harry laughs and kisses him until Draco can’t help but smile, until Harry feels lighter than he has in bloody months.

He didn’t even need the Imperius to feel like this, did he?

Just Draco, lying next to him, closer than they’ve ever been.


End file.
